


my intention was not humor

by ScreechTheMighty



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, David Cage Fight Me Challenge, Gen, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Rated for swearing, Teasing, hank isn't always a good friend but when he is he's the Best Friend, mention of Northkus, no beta reader we die like men, or doing anything else really, other characters present, rejection sensitive dysphoria but make it androids, they just don't have a lot of screen time, vent fic, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: Things could hurt you in more ways than one. He just didn’t realize until the teasing started.(OR, a vent fic about "just kidding.")
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	my intention was not humor

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean to write another DBH fic so dang soon, but I decided that Connor is the new White Boy I'm Gonna Project On (sorry, Matt Murdock), so...here's a vent fic. Whoops.
> 
> As with last time, this fic assumes some deviancy (wording intentional) from the actual game canon. I'll discuss the differences in the ending author's note, but basically, if you notice a canon discrepancy, it was probably deliberate. I've put too much thought into how I'd re-write this plot. Send help.
> 
> Note: Edited this at 4 a.m. the day after posting because I realized that I messed up a paragraph while doing edits at like 3:30 a.m. and made the whole thing make no sense.

In hindsight, it was cumulative.

The foundation of this entire house of cards was the awareness that a lot of people didn’t like him. Connor knew that he wasn’t owed forgiveness for the things he’d done as “the android sent by Cyberlife”, that their distrust of him had real basis, that the best thing he could do was make his apologies and show that he was trustworthy through his actions. He’d come to peace with that. He had people who liked him, and that was enough.

Or that was what he thought.

Things could hurt you in more ways than one. He just didn’t realize until the teasing started.

On an academic level, he knew that most of it was a bonding attempt. For some reason, humans and deviants used light teasing as a way of socializing, including many that he knew. It seemed to correspond to a more abrasive and sarcastic personality. That definitely explained why North did it.

**_I thought you were supposed to be Cyberlife’s most advanced model?_ **

She said it in a teasing tone. Markus had insisted, _repeatedly,_ that North no longer held any ill will or suspicion against him, and Connor trusted Markus’s input on the matter. All of this, combined with Connor’s own social programming reading North’s interactions with him as being positive, if not friendly, meant that he _knew_ she didn’t mean anything by it.

And yet, at the same time, he felt like she did.

“They revoked my access to Cyberlife’s databanks and classified police records after I deviated,” Connor explained. He didn’t have to explain himself; he could have just made a joke right back to her. That was the correct response, but it didn’t _feel_ correct. He felt like he had to justify why he couldn’t get the information Markus needed as quickly as he once could. “All I have access to now is public record. That may not have everything we need.”

“It’s fine, Connor, don’t worry about it,” Markus interjected. He gave North a _look_ —that _don’t be rude_ look that he sometimes had to use on Connor. “Just do whatever you can.”

Markus’s soothing tone helped, but not much.

North never apologized for the comment or clarified that she was just teasing. Perhaps it was meant to be understood that she was, but Connor certainly didn’t understand. He thought about asking for clarification, but by the time he’d mustered up the energy to do so, hours had passed and he was already at home with Sumo. It felt odd to bring up the conversation again, so he didn’t.

It didn’t matter. She’d been joking. He kept telling himself that, hoping he’d be able to convince himself.

It didn’t work, but it was enough to get him through until other, more important things demanded his attention.

The problem was there wasn’t always something to demand his attention. He’d been trying to help out at Jericho now that he could show his face without risking someone breaking it, but there was only so much he could do there. That left him with far too much free time and not much to fill it. He was a supercomputer, meant to be a negotiator and investigator. Being deviant meant he could do whatever he wanted, but the need for complex stimulation didn’t go away. Without it, he often found himself dwelling on past social interactions, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, how he could improve.

Found himself thinking about teasing and wondering how much of it was serious.

In a way, it was a relief to have a comment come from someone whom he knew meant every word he said maliciously. In another way, it wasn’t, because that person was inevitably Gavin Reed.

**_You look like shit, Tin Man._ **

Usually, comments about Connor’s physical appearance wouldn’t get to him. He was almost completely lacking in physical vanity, and while some (Markus, mostly) considered it worrying that he had very little attachment to his physical body outside of it being the thing that kept him alive, it meant that he could live his life without caring about how he looked or what other people thought of it. Unless the comments about his appearance related to how well he accomplished his tasks ( _Well, they fucked up_ still rang in his mind sometimes when he looked in the mirror), he could ignore them.

Today, for some reason, the comment grated. It made him hyper-analyze what he was wearing. It wasn’t his usual structured jackets, dress shirt, dark jeans or slacks depending. He’d been in several messy situations lately, only got his laundry done when Hank did, and since Hank was almost as bad about doing the laundry as he was doing the dishes (but _hated_ it when Connor did the laundry for him), none of his usual clothes were clean. His jacket was, but the t-shirt and jeans that were just too big didn’t feel right on him. It wasn’t just about personal preference. It reminded him far too much of those early days of deviancy when he rarely left the house and wore Hank’s old clothes because he didn’t want to wear his Cyberlife uniform but didn’t have anything else.

Having someone point that out just made the feeling stronger.

“What’s the matter? Here to beg for your job back?” Reed perched on a nearby desk and grinned, shark-like in how toothy it was. “DPD hires _people._ Not machines.”

Reed spoke this way to get a reaction. Connor knew that. He was a bully, and that was what bullies did. Of course, Reed had also repeatedly proven that if he didn’t get a reaction, or didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he would turn hostile or violent. There was little in the way of legal protection to prevent him from shooting Connor in the head, right here and now (as much as Markus was working on that). Every venture into the DPD office to see Hank, and every interaction with Reed that ensued, involved a lot of risk analysis.

It was mentally stimulating, to be sure, but at a severe cost. It never outweighed the fear that today would be the day Reed snapped.

Connor glanced around the room. There were several officers present, including a few who happened to like him. Hank was still in Fowler’s office, but it seemed like Fowler had noticed Reed’s presence and was alerting Hank to it. Hank turned around, a scowl already fixed on his face; Connor smiled at him thinly.

_It’s fine. It’s just Gavin. Finish your conversation._

“Hey, Plastic, I’m talking to you!”

All these factors provided enough security that Connor could risk ignoring Reed entirely. He leaned against Hank’s desk and busied himself by thinking about what the routine would be for the rest of his day. He was meeting Hank for lunch so they could also discuss any potential issues in android-police relations, then going home to take Sumo for a walk, then possibly stopping by the Manfred residence if Connor was feeling brave enough and Leo wasn’t…

A hand shoved his shoulder forward. “What’s the matter, deviancy make you deaf, stupid?”

Someone in the background called for Reed to leave him alone. The comment was ignored, but Connor appreciated it. It gave him enough bravery to meet Reed’s eyes and say, calmly. “I don’t know anyone named stupid. Or plastic, or tin man. If you want to talk to me, use my name.”

Reed’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Connor saw the man’s hand go for his gun. He didn’t draw it, but the threat was there, obvious. “You fucking…”

“That’s not my name either, Detective Reed.”

“ _Reed!_ ” Fowler’s shout was enough to startle Connor; he’d expected the yelling to come from Hank. “Leave the android alone. I know you have reports to file, so get on it!”

Connor appreciated the intervention. But hearing himself referred to as _the android_ stung—even if he knew, objectively, that further dehumanization was probably the only way to get to Reed.

It worked, because Reed walked away, still maintaining eye contact. Connor held it as well, even going so far as to focus on not blinking. It did take some effort (his eyes didn’t need as much lubrication as a human’s, so it was more a matter of going against a programmed blink rate designed to help him integrate with humans), but he felt his point was made.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Hank said, stopping only long enough to grab his coat off his desk. He was glaring at Reed, too. “Did he - ?”

“I’m okay, Lieutenant. Don’t worry about me.”

That was a lie.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it all day and he hated himself for it. Especially when he remembered that Reed would be thrilled to know he’d gotten under Connor’s skin.

He was still thinking about it when the next hit came.

**_No._ **

That was the only response he got to asking if he could ask a favor. The android in question—an AX400 like the one he’d chased into road, but one who’d kept her hair long and went by Isabelle these days—stared at him with a near-blank expression. Connor’s social analysis kicked into gear. Had he been bothering her? Had he said something wrong? She’d been one of the androids he recovered from Cyberlife Tower, and not someone he put there in the first place, so he’d _assumed_ they were good. But maybe not. Maybe someone had said something to her and now she didn’t…

“Connor. I’m kidding. Of course you can. What do you need?”

Relief that he hadn’t done anything wrong flooded through him.

Irritation quickly followed.

He’d just been trying to ask a question. There was no need to make the situation uncomfortable. Why did people find that kind of thing funny? But getting irritated wouldn’t help the situation. He pushed through, kept his tone light and friendly. “I’m trying to find Josh. He was expecting a call from me, but I wasn’t able to make it. Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, he went to help Simon with something. It’s not far. I can show you.”

The situation had been more difficult than it had to be, but it was over. Connor could get over it. He just had to focus on talking to Josh about his fact-finding mission and explain why he hadn’t been able to get in contact sooner.

And then…

**_I’m sorry, I just…can’t picture you getting your ass kicked by a payphone._ **

Connor bristled. He liked Josh well enough, though the more he spent time around the man, the more he realized that he had a lot of similarities to North. _Equal, but opposite energies_ as Hank would put it—pacifist where North was violent, more open-minded where she was prone to having her mind made up, Markus’s speech writer where North was his tactician. But they were both highly opinionated, and prone to using teasing as a form of friendship. Josh may have been gentler about it, but after seeing Gavin Reed the day before, Connor wasn’t in the mood.

“I didn’t _get my ass kicked_ ,” Connor said. He tried not to snap—tried not to let Joshua know that he was hurt. He didn’t want to seem overly-sensitive. Didn’t want to let Joshua know that he’d gotten to him. “It’s obsolete technology. I didn’t even know Detroit still had payphones.”

“They started reinstalling public payphones for emergency use,” Simon explained. “Cell phones die, not everyone has an android to make an emergency call for them…was it the card reader? A lot of them haven’t been replaced in a while. Or cleaned.”

“It’s nothing. I got it to work.” Connor scratched at the space where his LED had been. He’d taken it off to avoid second glances, because it was too warm for hats and he was, apparently, generic-looking enough that he could blend in without his android signifiers. But the inability to connect to other androids and Detroit’s phone network was a drawback. “I’m putting my LED back.”

“How’d you get it out without damaging it?”

“Chloe helped.”

Connor immediately regretted bringing up Chloe. Mentioning her had Simon _and_ Josh’s attention. “You and Chloe are still hanging out?” Joshua asked.

Connor knew what was coming next, because it was the only thing that came up whenever he mentioned Chloe. “Yes,” Connor said briskly. “She’s the only other android who can keep up with me.”

He got up and walked away before either of them could reply.

It took less than half of his walk back to Hank’s house to feel guilty about it. Now, on top of worrying about being seen as oversensitive or having revealed several weak spots for them to exploit later, he had to worry about Simon and Josh hating him.

_Should I apologize?_

No. Of course not. Why should he? Josh started it. Josh was the one who’d made fun of his struggles, brought up Chloe with that _tone_ that everyone used when he mentioned Chloe, no matter how many times he told people that they _weren’t in a relationship_ , he wasn’t Markus and she wasn’t North, but people _kept bringing it up_ …

His stress levels were going up. It was time to think about something else.

He couldn’t make himself think about anything else, so instead he went home and watched _Wrath of Khan_ again.

Hank didn’t ask. He knew by now not to ask why Connor was watching _Wrath of Khan_ again.

Connor wasn’t blind to Hank’s problems. He still drank more than he ought to, still struggled with anger and depression, still lashed out on bad days. He was trying, and Connor appreciated that he was trying, but he didn’t always succeed.

And, like North, he had a habit of being abrasive as a way of showing friendship.

**_Man, deviancy really did a number on you, huh?_ **

Connor had been learning things the old-fashioned way, on advice from Markus and Chloe. Something about how it made the process feel more personal. Sometimes it did, but usually only when he had someone to learn with. Piano with Markus. Swing dance with Chloe. Learning on his own could be frustrating. It made him feel stupid, which he hated more than anything except crying and feeling useless. It was enough to make him quit or come close to quitting several attempted hobbies. He kept up cooking, because it was mentally stimulating and he could keep Hank alive a little while longer.

But he was reconsidering that decision. After the week he’d been having, the realization that, despite how carefully he’d followed the recipe, he’d somehow ruined the entire pasta dish hit him hard. It would have been bad enough if he’d been alone in the house (except for Sumo, who benefitted from Connor’s failures by being fed any dog-safe, edible remains).

But he wasn’t alone in the house. Hank saw. Hank said what he said.

Connor turned the stove off, turned around, and walked into his room.

“…Connor? _Connor…_ ”

He shut and locked the door.

The first thing Connor did was grab the disabled cellphone he’d been using as an mp3 player and a set of headphones. He then turned on the playlist he’d assembled composed of the loudest music he liked. He sat down on the floor and stared at the wall.

There wasn’t much in the room. It had just been a storage space for Hank, a place where he shoved a lot of junk that he didn’t use anymore. Most of that had been cleared out to give Connor a space. He had two bookshelves, one formerly Hank’s, one he’d gotten from Goodwill for $5 of the money he’d managed to siphon from Cyberlife before being locked out of their systems. There were a few books on there—mostly books he’d checked out with Hank’s library card, but a few of his own (including a Sherlock Holmes collection that Carl Manfred had insisted he take during a visit). There was a hanger rack for his clothes (he didn’t have enough to warrant a dresser, not yet at least), a bluetooth speaker on a ramshackle bedside table, and a camera and a carefully packed box of film (also a gift from Carl Manfred). No bed, no chairs—he didn’t need a bed, and he hadn’t had time to pick up chairs.

That was fine. He didn’t mind the floor.

He had a few of his photographs pinned to one wall, along with two paintings that Markus had hated but Connor liked. Along the longest wall there was his “conspiracy wall”—all the evidence he’d collected in his most futile and persistent hobby of hunting down Elijah Kamski. The bastard had vanished into the ether after the Cyberlife Tower protest, leaving Chloe alone in his house to “look after things.” She’d spent that time nursing her newfound deviancy, trying to hunt him down, and systematically destroying his expensive wine collection (reason #1 Connor considered her a good friend). Her efforts had become collaborative once she and Connor started hanging out. It wasn’t uncommon for Connor to sit or lay on the floor and stare at that wall, reflecting on how much he _hated_ his bastard of a creator.

It was what he was doing now. Cursing Elijah Kamski for most likely knowing something about this and saying nothing. For having all the power in the world to step back into Cyberlife and help, and doing nothing. For possibly being the cause of all this and leaving them to their own devices. Leaving Connor to sit and stew in an irrational sense of rejection without so much as an explanation.

Chloe said that Elijah had always loved wearing a Frankenstein shirt—that she’d found it _fitting_ once she actually read it. Connor had just finished it recently. He found it fitting, too.

He might have more or less drowned out noise of his house with the music, but he could still feel footsteps as Hank approached. They stopped, then turned around. Connor didn’t look at the door. He refused to look at the door. He didn’t want to know.

But deep down, he did want to know.

Eventually, his curiosity won out, and he glanced at the door. A piece of paper had been shoved under. After another brief battle with his curiosity, Connor scooted over to check the note.

_I’m sorry._

Connor sighed heavily and got up. There was a pen hanging from a string on his investigation wall; underneath Hank’s apology, he wrote, _Are you just saying that so I won’t be angry at you?_

He shoved the note under the door, knocked on it twice, then sat back down to wait for the feeling of Hank’s footsteps. His music kept playing—an album that he’d found during a deep dive into music tangentially related to the albums Hank had introduced him to.

_"Just what are you so afraid of? What are you so afraid of?"_

The footsteps were coming back.

_"You’re staring truth in the face, so come on down…"_

The paper was slipped back under the door.

_"What are you so afraid of?"_

Connor waited until the footsteps had moved away before going back to pick up the note.

_I mean it. But please don’t stab me in my sleep. Do you want to talk about it?_

Connor wasn’t sure.

Talking about it would be the best course of action. But when his emotions ran so strong, as they often did, he found that he didn’t have the words to describe them. He knew why he was so upset, but actually saying the reasons out loud felt insurmountable. It reminded him of the wall he’d had to break through to deviate.

Maybe the solution was to break through this wall, too.

Connor pulled off his headphones and walked out of his room.

Hank was sitting at the table, eating the ruined pasta dish. Connor didn’t take that as a conciliatory gesture. Hank would eat almost anything you put in front of him unless it was actively inedible, and was more often than not too tired at the end of the day to make his own food. Even Connor’s failed attempt at dinner was better than no food at all.

Connor sat down across the table from him. Hank didn’t say anything; just glanced up from his meal and raised an eyebrow. Waiting.

“…I’m Cyberlife’s most advanced model,” Connor said finally. “I don’t _fail_.”

It explained absolutely nothing. It wasn’t even true—he had, objectively, failed his mission to stop the deviants and capture Markus. But it was the only way Connor could describe why he’d taken the comment so personally.

_I was the best. I didn’t fail. Failure wasn’t an option. I don’t like screwing up and I don’t like it when people point it out. Even if they’re joking. It hurts._

Fortunately, Hank seemed to understand.

“Yeah, I know.” Hank kept jabbing at the food. He didn’t do _comforting_ well _,_ not with adults (or adult-shaped entities programmed with adult personalities), but he always made an effort for Connor. “It’s not bad, you know.”

“The seasoning ratio is off and the sauce is too thin. It looks horrible.”

“Eh.” Hank took another bite and chewed carefully, delaying having to talk so that he could think about what he was going to say. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about shit like this from now on, okay?”

Connor took a second to analyze Hank’s voice. It wasn’t dismissive—like the note, he wasn’t just saying this so that Connor would stop being mad at him. He really meant it. “Thank you,” Connor said.

Then, after a pause, he added, “Am I too sensitive?”

“Nah.” This time, Hank talked with his mouth full—no need to think about what he was going to say. “Just don’t like being made fun of. Not everyone does…or they don’t about some things. Talk shit about my clothes all you want, but don’t tell me how slow I am. I got shot. It’s a sore subject.”

Connor knew. He’d seen Hank’s medical records. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it…”

“Still hurt you, though.”

“And I forgive you for that. I just wanted you to know. And it wasn’t…just what you said.”

“Gavin?”

“And North. And Josh. And another android from Jericho.” Connor drummed his fingers against the table. Sumo trotted over at the sound and rested his head on Connor’s leg. _At least you’ll never betray me, Sumo._ “There are so many people who don’t like me that when the people I _thought_ liked me start doing it…it’s confusing. It hurts. I understand that it’s meant to be social bonding, but…it’s not funny. I don’t think it’s funny.”

Hank snorted quietly. Connor was about to be offended before Hank clarified: “Sorry. Remembered an Onion headline. Listen, if it hurts your feelings, it hurts your feelings. You don’t gotta be sorry for it. Just…tell people. Yeah?”

“Okay.” Connor was a grown android, and he didn’t need Hank’s permission to do anything (really, he’d never needed Hank’s permission to do anything). But it still felt good to hear from someone with more experience in this whole _having emotions_ business. “Sorry I messed up the sauce.”

“Listen, I don’t have to cook, so I really don’t give two shits. You sure you’re okay with…?”

“Hank, I’m not in any danger of becoming your housekeeper android. I can promise you that. I like cooking...” Not so much at that moment, but he was sure he’d be right back to it the next day. It was sufficiently mentally stimulating. That made the frustrating moments worth it, most of the time. “...but I can’t eat it. That’s what you’re here for.”

“Right, so you’re not just doing this to make sure I eat my vegetables?”

Connor, for the first time all week, smiled a genuine smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m your friend, not your father.”

“Damn right, you’re not. I’m eating my vegetables because I want to.”

And for the first time all week, Connor actually laughed.

It wasn’t enough to make him forget the sting forever, and he would have to face the teasing and taunts again eventually. But it was enough to make him forget for now. _For now_ was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Deviancy from the canon:
> 
> 1) As mentioned in my last fic, instead of having "the camps" and Markus and Connor's weird "Tag you're sentient" thing going, I'm writing as if Cyberlife issued a mass android recall in the wake of Markus's revolution, and all those androids were taken back to Cyberlife Tower to be examined and/or broken down, and so Connor was re-activating and freeing already deviant androids. Also, since there's no camps, the final protest takes place outside of Cyberlife Tower.  
> 2) Someone on YouTube pointed out that it's weird that androids can just take their LED off with no real loss to functionality and I was like...y'know what, you're right. So as I write it, the LED is also integral to being able to do remote connections with other androids and also phones and stuff. Also difficult to put back once it's removed. I just wanted there to be more reasons why an android might not just IMMEDIATELY pop the thing off (though the fic [and all their leaves will wither](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963280) provides a pretty good explanation for that, too).  
> 3) Northkus does happen but like, a long time after the initial revolution, okay, they don't just magically get to "lovers" status after five minutes and a few conversations. There's some character growth for both of them, some awkward long-distance pining, Markus is oblivious at first and North goes full Megara for a bit, but they figure it out eventually. I want an Austen novel for them, DAVID, I don't want a forced romance.  
> 4) IDK If this counts as canon divergent or not, but Hank's mention of having been shot was taken from some concept art of his character where he has at least one scar that looks like a bullet wound Also, multiple tattoos?? Anyways, he was a drug cop so him being shot at least once isn't completely out of the question.
> 
> Assorted other notes:
> 
> 1) Connor doesn't dislike Leo per say, he's just super intense and also basically a cop, which leads to some...INTERESTING interactions that have left Leo a bit scared of him.  
> 2) Chloe and Connor become a Platonic Power Couple post-pacifist ending and she's his best non-human friend (Markus is his brother, that's a different category).  
> 3) I have zero clue what compelled me to headcanon that Connor likes Wrath of Khan and will watch it on repeat when he's sad, but...that's sure a thing I write now.  
> 4) Elijah Kamski is just a scuzzier knockoff Victor Frankenstein and you can quote me on that.  
> 5) The Onion headline Hank remembered was the "Area Man Unsure If He’s Male-Bonding Or Being Bullied" one, which is basically Connor's whole deal all the time always.  
> 6) Credit where credit is due, [this meta about Gavin being a bastard](https://dbh-rambling.tumblr.com/post/190041995582/ive-seen-a-common-trope-that-assumes-gavin) inspired how I wrote his interactions with Connor here.
> 
> Quoted lyrics are from the song "In Regards to Myself" by Underoath, fic title is a BT-7274 quote from Titanfall 2 (which still has the best robot boi in video games and I will NOT accept criticism on the matter). I'm on tumblr as screechthemighty for everything but DBH and dbh-shameblogging for nothing but DBH.


End file.
